Life
by Yak-A-Lot
Summary: Happily ever after had never been in the Ray's blood, in fact, it seemed to go against nature's will. This was especially true for the notorious killer Charles. As a child, he could only let his mind be polluted by sweet nothings for so long before becoming bitter at the hand that fate had dealt him...fighting back only came natural. This is what life is all about, right? (GORE)
1. Hollow

The man who brought me into this world stands in front of me before his arms envelope me in a way I have no words to describe, an action in which I wasted my whole youth longing for. I go rigid against his slightest touch as my mind dances with a thousand thoughts all at once before the only one that felt right presents itself to me.

Reaching behind myself my fingertips brush against the cool, wooden handle of my butcher knife I had stowed away. A sense of empowerment rushes over every nerve in my body as I grip it with all my strength as if my very life depended on. No, no…not my life. Only my enjoyment. I was going to commit an atrocious act, a fantasy if you will- one I had only expressed in each and every stroke of my paintbrush and gallons of red paint.

Until today.

As many times as I struggle to piece together the next few moments in my mind I never seem to get it right. Every single bit of self-control I had demonstrated in prior years had diminished all in one flurry of red as I plunged the knife into his body. Somewhere in my mind it registers he is screaming, but the words I do not know for certain.

Sickening laughter slips through my lips, rumbling my chest as the very life-force in his eyes drains before he, finally, slumps forward against me. I wasn't ready to come off my high, so as if I was being controlled by another force my fingers dip past flesh…closing around the first slimy organ that I touch. I yank it out, dropping it at my feet.

It didn't stop there, oh no, it wasn't until I emptied his worthless carcass of every single thing that kept him ticking for all those years did I finally stop. The blood coated nearly every inch of my arms, reaching nearly to my elbows.

I did it.

I succeeded in making him just as hollow as he left me…every time I was beaten…every year that passed by where I didn't even cross his mind.

Then why am I crying?

* * *

 _{A/N}_

 _Despite some of their more cringe worthy dialogue, I was inspired by the comics made by Devil's Due Publishing. Their portrayal of Chucky made two interesting statements that I kind of just, connected the dots and ran away with it. I think the way he goes about saying these things are a bit out of character but over all I like the concepts. The first one was along the lines of,"Hey, I should warn you. I gutted the last person who hugged me. But...Dad should have known better." And the second one implied that when Chucky wasn't off murdering people he felt hollow._

 _On a side note, this little drabble is going to be followed by one or two more when I finish writing them. I was going to type all three parts into one, fairly long document but I decided against it because they're all about (somewhat) different things and take place during different parts of C_ hucky's life.


	2. Breathless

I welcomed the darkness with open arms as I delved deeper and deeper into the void that once could be called a home. The only reminiscence of light came from flickering lights overhead and various other devices that had been left on by my mother's drunken rush to crawl into bed. My hands find their way to the switches, plunging this place into an even darker state than before and without the giveaway of my shadow flicking up and down the walls I invite myself into her bedroom.

I find myself reacting out of habit as I pull myself onto the mattress, sinking into the worn out cushions ever so slightly. Unlike the young boy who made his way here for condolences…I was grown. Grown up and growing tired of the bitch that lay across from me, blissfully unaware of all the pain she had brought on me throughout the entirety of my childhood.

With the bottle of empty booze on her nightstand I knew in that moment she would be difficult to wake, so as recklessly as I dared I swung a leg of her resting figure before efficiently straddling her stomach. I pause for a second to take in the sight of her rising and falling chest, all of her limbs tangled in the stained cotton sheets that were covered in all kinds of disgusting stains.

In the moment my rough, calloused hands wrapped around the soft skin of her neck it's like the gates to heaven, hell and earth came crashing down all at once. My eyes remained fixed on her face, trying to eternalize this moment in my mind. But as if on cue her soft brown eyes snapped open and looked up at me before the realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

Her hands shot up with every ounce of strength she could muster but in return I only tightened my grip, cutting off her air supply in seconds. Those claw like nails began raking down my arms, starting out with loving touches in an attempt to sway me from my intentions of ending her life…but as her panic progressed, the she-demon I knew so very well came out to play as she resorted to flailing about leaving thick gashes in her wake.

Shrugging away the pain I brought my attention back to her lips, smudged with pink lipstick and mouthing only God knows what but it seemed like along with her corpse her final words were going to be buried six feet under.

Only long after the muscles in her throat relaxed and the final beat of her heart had rung out did I release my grip around her throat. The words escaped my lips, no thought needed…I was a man working on instinct, living by the rule of kill or be killed.

"Say hi to my old man in hell for me, _bitch_."

I'll draw it out this time…savor every second of their last five minutes on earth…look into their eyes and watch the light in them fade…leaving me just about as breathless as they are in the face of their beautiful demise…This will be my last kill.

Yet I know that's a lie.


End file.
